I first learned that there was debate about the analogy of God’s kingship from a fellow student in my seminary Greek class. This person believed that the Greek word basileia—generally translated as “kingdom”—should instead be translated “reign” or (God help us) “kin-dom.” I’ve since been made aware of efforts to remove references to the kingship of God as manifest in his son, Jesus Christ.
The new expansive-language Eucharistic Prayers approved for trial use by General Convention include “And blessed be God’s reign” instead of the more familiar “And blessed be his kingdom” in the response to the opening acclamation. Newer editions of the preaching resource Feasting on the Word refer to the last Sunday before the season of Advent as “Reign of Christ” Sunday, as opposed to “Feast of Christ the King,” the name borrowed from Rome by those who celebrate this feast.
Have we become skeptical of the idea that God is not just a Heavenly Father, but a powerful King? This creeping anxiety deserves some reflection.
My sense is that this aversion stems from a desire to ensure that our liturgical language isn’t sexist or overly exclusive—“king” is a gendered term with an inherent power imbalance. But is this the same thing as being exclusory or sexist? The phrase is not without complications and nuances. In a world of developed democracies, which is nevertheless beset by dictators, oligarchs, and those who want to be, it makes sense to wonder if kingship is the most relevant metaphor for Christ’s relationship to the world and to humanity. There is also the uncomfortable fact that the term “Christ Is King” has been recently highjacked by alt-right antisemites on social media—which should be vociferously condemned by all who bear the name of Christ.
Nevertheless, abuse does not rob use of its legitimacy. I don’t intend to make the case against inclusive language liturgy in general (because I have already done so elsewhere); my concern is not with any change to the prayer-book liturgy, but with what we lose when we abandon this thoroughly biblical analogy.
Far from being inherently oppressive or patriarchal, the divinely revealed reality of Christ as King of Kings and Lord of Lords is not only relevant and directly from the pages of scripture, but also, surprisingly empowering and liberating.
In 2025, it is exactly the expression of God’s power breaking into the world and overturning the false powers of this world that we need.
Thy Kingdom Come
There is, I suppose, always a risk of coming across as pedantic about liturgical language. After all, isn’t “the reign of Christ” effectively the same thing as “Christ the King,” but without potentially alienating baggage?
Scripture assures us that Christ does reign now, at the right hand of the Father. The Feast of the Ascension, an important but often overlooked feast, reminds us of the reality of Christ’s reign, even as we wait for his return. But we do wait. Christ is not reigning now in the same way that he will reign as King in the Last Days.
Proclaiming that Christ is King of the Universe is not just a recognition of the reality that Christ is still seated in the heavenly places. It is a statement of hope that he will in time return as both King and Judge, to establish his kingdom here on earth. The reign of Christ has begun, but it will not be brought to its full consummation until it is on earth as it is in heaven. Referring to Christ’s reign instead of his kingship obfuscates this point, and risks losing an essential eschatological and teleological reality that is the ground of Christian hope.
King of Kings
We toil in a world of brokenness and sin as we wait for our King’s return. The kingship of Christ is an essential spiritual antidote to the political division and upheaval in democracies and dictatorships around the world. The current mistrust of political leaders may be one of the reasons that talking about the kingship of God can feel jarring to modern people; none of us has ever lived or will ever live under the reign of a just and godly king here on earth. Instead, Christians in democratic countries are treated to a parade of self-interested office-seekers, while Christians suffering under oppressive regimes experience the effects of tyranny and dictatorship. But this is exactly the point: only a righteous King, not a candidate, can ever really hold political authority accountable.
The kingship of Christ shown in the power of God that reigns from the cross, and which will come again in dreadful majesty to judge the living and the dead, stands in judgement over our earthy leaders. In a world of might makes right and a zero-sum politics, the fact that elected officials have a responsibility to lead with the righteousness, compassion, and justice revealed in the person of Jesus Christ—and that we should demand as much of those who hope to earn our votes—is a reminder we all need. Christ as King does not only comfort us with the truth that our true leader is a King whose kingdom is not of this world; it also gives us something to demand of those who would claim power for themselves in this life.
No Man Can A-hinder Me
It is interesting that the calls to remove kingship language from the liturgy tend to originate in Christian communities that occupy a space of privilege and power within the Church. Seminarians, deputies to General Convention, and progressive priests in seemingly all-white parishes are very concerned about the implications of celebrating Jesus as King. Is it possible that those who hold social, political and economic power feel threatened by a King whose power and majesty might threaten theirs? Throughout history, Christians living under oppressive regimes have drawn strength and courage from the knowledge that power in this world, however brutal it may be here and now, is never total and never eternal.
The kingship of Jesus, therefore, remains incredibly popular with communities that have a remembered or lived through real oppression. The author and civil rights leader Howard Thurman wrote extensively about the power of God portrayed in the spirituals written by enslaved Black Christians in the American South. He wrote: “In many of the songs the majesty of Jesus stands forth in a very striking manner. … For if Jesus, who is Savior, is King, then the humble lot of the worshiper is illumined and lifted.” [1]
It is the kingship of Jesus that elevates the status of those who are told by the world and by those who stand in power over them that they are worth nothing. Hymns like “Ride on King Jesus,” with its stirring refrain “Ride on, King Jesus, No man can a-hinder me,” are a powerful testimony to the hope, resilience, and dare I say resistance that comes out of a community that, while marginalized and exploited on earth, has not forgotten that there is a King who, whatever happens in this world, rides on to victory; who has promised to come and execute his justice.
The kingship of Jesus should challenge those of us who occupy positions of power and privilege. It calls us to repentance, even as it invites us to rejoice in hopeful expectation of the return of the King to whom every power in heaven and earth and under the earth has been made subject, and to whom all will one day be called to account.
Ride on, King Jesus.
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[1] Howard Thurman, Deep River: The Negro Spiritual Speaks of Life and Death (Richmond, IN: Friends United Press, 1975), 32, epub.
Barbara White serves as Associate Rector for Worship, Formation, and Communications at St. Francis in the Fields Episcopal Church in Louisville, Kentucky.
